


And Now We're Here

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hydra Agent Reader (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Vague Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: You’ve been held captive by Hydra for years because of your supernatural powers. Liberation comes in the form of the Avengers storming the underground compound.





	And Now We're Here

#  **I.**

_Sometime Recently._   
  
The detonation that rocks the underground bunker is…seismic, to say the least. The earth rumbles, then shakes and finally explodes. Blown out of your chair, you gasp for breath as your mouth fills with the dust which is now choking the air. Immediately you retch, and shake your head to try to clear out the throbbing in your ears from the horrible noise of the explosion.   
  
Everything is hazy. You rub your eyes painfully, the sharp particles stinging and causing salty tears to burn your eyes. Blurred figures rush around in the dust. There are harsh lights from somewhere outside brightening the bunker, and everything is an eerie shade of yellow-green. Part of the roof has caved in, thankfully missing you by several feet. But the guards by the inner sanctum doors are down, crushed by rocks.   
  
The guards are down.   
  
_The guards are down_ .   
  
You could leave. You can escape, if you’re fast enough. If no one notices. If your ears would stop ringing.   
  
Your fingers dug into the ground, skin breaking around sharp edges of rocks. Sitting forward makes your head ache horribly, but you grit your teeth. You can do it. You’ve done worse. You _had_ to do it, for your family, for –   
  
Stuttering pops nearby nearly stop your heart, shocking you into a mild panic. Though your ears are still muffled from the explosion, you recognize the sound of gunfire anywhere. Guns! That explained the explosion then. The bunker had been attacked.   
  
Attacked. That means that you will likely be dead very soon.   
  
Large, looming and dark blurs are marching towards you now. The earlier figures must have been panicked comrades searching for the way out - they’re nowhere to be seen. Only the attackers, coming nearer. You scramble back under the metal desk to hide. It’s probably no use, and you brace herself for whatever death you’ll receive today.   
  
A single, black barrel of a gun, centimeters away from your face. Breathing heavily, you drag your eyes upwards to at least see the face of your killer. At least he would see _you_ . And the moment your eyes meet his, fear – paralyzing, all-consuming dread begins to shake your limbs from head to toe, and white spots appear in your vision. You know those eyes, even though you wish you didn’t. You barely roll your head to the side in time before vomiting violently on the ground.   
  
“What is it, Buck?”   
  
Bucky, wide-eyed and frozen, appears deaf. Steve waits only a millisecond, and said again, more sharply, “Bucky!”   
  
He jolts. But his gaze doesn’t move from the bedraggled, dusty and dirty figure cowering beneath the desk. Steve cast the shadows a glance, and then turns back to his friend. Bucky’s jaw is ticking, a horrible light in his eyes. For the first time Steve can recall, Bucky’s hands are twitching on the trigger. Then he inhales sharply, and retracts the gun to hoist against his shoulder.   
  
“She’s not one of them,” Bucky says, and without another look beneath the desk, strides on into the fray where more HYDRA officers would be needing death that day.   


#  **II.**

  
_The generators were out again. Cursing in a creative mash of grating Russian and Polish, the Enforcer shouted harshly for you to come. You’d been sitting behind a computer in the next room, working on something you didn’t fully understand when the lights went out and the screen blank. But at his sharp bark you stood, clumsily knocking your chair in the dark._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Fix this,” he told you in Polish. He jabbed his finger at the man strapped to a chair in front of him. Three flashlights were trained on a shining metal arm, darkened in a few places from gunpowder and torn just above the wrist. Wires were popping out, sparking blue. Your hands begin to shake. You had never seen this man before, though you’d heard whispers of him. Ghost. The Asset. The American. The Winter Soldier. You didn’t want to touch him._ _  
_ _  
_ _You didn’t have a choice._ _  
_ _  
_ _He didn’t look at you, at least. Crouching by the metal arm, you focused on the tear in the plates, subduing the dangerous sparks. In the watery light of the flashlights, you force one of the currents back together._ _  
_ _  
_ _The man grunted, and his metal fist twisted. The plates chinked and grated on your ears, and your eyes flew to his face. Had you hurt him? But it was a metal arm! Unless they had routed it to his nerves –_ _  
_ _  
_ _Oh, no. They had routed it to his nerves. You covered your nose to keep from audibly retching. The cruelty of HYDRA knew no bounds._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m sorry,” you whispered, in trembling and broken Russian. No response, but a clicking of tongue from the Enforcer. Concentrating on the tear again, you urged the currents together…gently. You needn’t hurt him, not really. Though the Enforcer probably would prefer you to. That was reason enough_ not _to. The horrible whispers you’d heard of the Asset notwithstanding…_ _  
_ _  
_ _Searing heat from the electricity closed the circuits, and the wired retreated back into the metal arm. Placing one shaking hand on the broken metal plates, you coaxed them back into place and sealed those, too. You heard the sharp intake of breath from the Asset, and immediately drew your hand away._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Not bad,” the Enforcer grunted. “You can live another day. I’ll be sure to send a letter to your parents.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The butt of a gun hit the small of your back, and crying aloud, you fell to your knees._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Go fix the generators.”_ _  
_   
And, with no other choice, you did.

 

#  **III.**

 

You’re shaking. Your hands are tied in front of you, and a borrowed jacket has been slung over your shoulders. While it covers the dirt from the explosion, you can still feel the scratchiness on your skin and in your mouth.   
  
“And what do you expect us to do with her, huh Buck?” The tall, blond man is arguing, not even bothering to keep it low. “Even if she’s not one of them, they’ll still come looking for her! They don’t give up secrets that easily.”   
  
“Secrets? What sort of secrets do you think we were allowed to know?” The hoarse voice of the Asset – you’ve heard it before, of course, and it makes you shudder. Even though the English is well, _softer_ , and that horrific, mechanical tint is gone, you can’t forget it. You never would.   
  
Silence. “You mean – they kept her like you?”   
  
More silence. “Not like me. I don’t know. But she’s not one of them.”   
  
Bootsteps come striding towards you. You want to sink into the black walls of the jet, sink into the inky darkness of the night and cold air and never come back –   
  
“What’s your name?” The blond man is crouching in front of you, and you stare. His eyes are wary, but shockingly blue, as if someone had injected a marker into his irises. “We won’t hurt you,” he adds. “If you’re not with HYDRA, we can offer protection. I guess.” The last part is coupled with a glare at the Asset, who is standing back. The Asset is not looking at you. You bite your lip and say nothing. “Do you speak English?” the blond man tires again. You remain silent.   
  
“Gol- _lee_ Buck,” the man says, straightening with a sigh. “I knew you should’ve stayed behind.”   
  
“And then what? You would have killed an innocent woman?” the Asset snaps. “Or left her to die in the mountains?”   
  
“Well, no, but –”   
  
“She’s Polish. I think. Nat will talk to her.” And his back turns to them. You close your eyes, leaning your head back and trying not to feel the zipties on your wrists. Like you’re a threat, as if you could do anything against the Asset...   
  
You don’t know where you are, or where they had taken you. But you’re used to that - HYDRA moved you around enough that you knew better than to protest when you clearly have no choice in the matter. When the jet lands, you’re hustled off by the blond man, his hand on your upper arm as he steers you into the open air.   
  
It’s still night. All around, bright lights twinkle and the air of an unfamiliar place hit your senses. The landing pad is high; the flickering lights around you must be buildings. But you see no more, being pulled, not unkindly, into an elevator. The Asset isn’t there, but your knees won’t stop shaking.   
  
The blond man remains silent. A horrific whooshing later, nearly making your sensitive stomach gag again, and the elevator stops. It gives a cheery ding, and opens –   
  
To reveal a large, comfortable looking room. Couches. Tables. Chairs. Rugs. Books on bookshelves. Normal stuff. Not...a bunker. But weren’t you a prisoner?   
  
A figure in shadow unfolds itself from a couch, and a woman with red hair appears, stretching out long, lithe limbs.   
  
“Here she is, Nat,” the man says. “She won’t speak to me. Bucky says she’s Polish.”   
  
“ _Polski jest dobry_ .” Polish is good.   
  
You flinch. The woman strides forward, smiling gently.   
  
“You must be tired,” the woman, Nat, says in perfect Polish. Not even a trace of an accent. You can only stare, trying not to be soothed by the sound of…home. “Come and rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”   
  
Wordlessly, for the seductive beckoning of sleep overpowers even your curiosity of this place, your dread of being a prisoner, your fear for your family – you nod. In a flash of movement the woman whips a knife from her sleeve, and the zip-tie around your wrists is sliced.   
  
“That was a little much, Steve,” Nat says in English to the man, and the knife disappears back into her sleeve. “Can’t you see how she’s shaking? As if she could threaten _you_ .”   
  
“It’s a precaution,” the man defends himself.   
  
“It’s unnecessary. Come on,” she adds to you in Polish. “We have a room for you.”   
  
A room, and a bed, too, laden with pillows and wine-colored blankets. You only half-hear what the woman is telling you, shedding the borrowed jacked and stripping off your dirtied labcoat. There are clean clothes on the bed, which you snatch up right away.   
  
“Good night,” Nat says, but you don’t hear that either, nor the sound of the door closing. Even though you’re still dirty from the explosion, you don the clean clothes and sink into the clean sheets at once.   
  
But although sleep comes swiftly that night, it does not last.

 

#  **IV.**

 

Several hours later, you’re sitting in the main room you’d come through, surrounded by strangers.  
  
You hate strangers. It was strangers that had taken you from your home, that had locked you up, experimented on you, ordered you around. But weirdly, though you had been captured and detained without question the night before, none of _these_ strangers had done any of those things. But captors are captors, and strangers mean fear.   
  
The woman Nat is sitting on the couch beside you, and totally at ease among these people. She even smiles warmly at you. You swallow, trying to forget the eyes on you.   
  
“How are you holding up?” Nat asks in Polish.   
  
“Better.” You haven’t used your voice in hours. It tastes strange.   
  
“Can I ask you a few things about...about the place we found you?”   
  
You tense. “I guess. I don’t know much.”   
  
“Were you kept there against your will?” Nat asks, her voice low.   
  
You chew on your tongue for a moment. There is no use in not answering. Perhaps if you didn’t start talking, you’d be forced to. And that was always…painful. You take a deep breath. “Yes. They had my family. I had to do whatever they said.”   
  
There is a tangible shift in the room. Breaths loosed, shoulders relaxing. The tall blond man is standing near the windows, but clearly doesn’t understand what was going on. But an unfamiliar man beside him is speaking fast, quietly. A few breaths are let out, in relief, perhaps. The hair on the back of your neck stand up, and you whirl around to stare.   
  
The Asset. Of course. Your heartbeat quickens, a gasp strangling in your throat.   
  
“You’re scaring her,” the blond man says. “Bucky, what did you do?”   
  
“I don’t know,” was the deep, rumbling response. His icy eyes are on you, but move away quickly.   
  
“Save it for later,” Nat tell them, and back to you in Polish, “I’m sorry. We can help you, if you will let us.”   
  
You stare, baffled. “H-help?” When was the last time you had even _heard_ that word?   
  
“Yes. There are outreach and rehabilitation programs for people…kept like you, by people like HYDRA.” Nat’s eyes are soft. “They take care of you. There’s therapy. You can talk about what you went through…or not. There’s medical care. You won’t have to worry about anything except getting better. Finding out what you want.”   
  
It’s even a more seductive idea than sleep.   
  
“Yes,” you say, replying English without thinking. “I…would like.”   
  
“Oh great, she speaks English,” one man says. “Guess we didn’t need you here after all, Natasha. So, HYDRA girl, who exactly are you?”   
  
Your eyes follow this man as he circles around. He’s twirling a phone in his hands, looking somehow both brutally interested and bored at the same time. He expects an answer. You know the type.   
  
“Stop it, Tony,” Nat snaps. But you speak quickly; If they want more answers, you want it over as soon as possible.

 

“I come from a village in the mountains. I…was captured by those men when I was fourteen years old.”  
  
Tony’s mouth falls open, and his angry voice cuts through the air. “ _Fourteen_ – they rob cradles, now?”.   
  
“They always have,” the blond man says stonily.   
  
“Why did they want you?” Nat asks.   
  
“I…could do things with electricity. I was to keep their facilities running.”   
  
“And they took your family to force your compliance?”   
  
“They had a spy in my village. They said that if I disobeyed them, their spy would kill my family before I could ask forgiveness.” You close your eyes. The horror of these memories make your blood run cold. You try again not to think of the Asset behind you. It doesn’t work. It’s like an awareness; an itch that makes your skin prickle.   
  
“Tell me about your powers.”   
  
You open your eyes to see Tony gazing down at you. Now he isn’t faking boredom. You bite your lip.   
  
“Well?” he prompts. “It’s only curiosity, I promise. We’re not going to exploit –” His phone screen brightens, and in surprise he glances down. His eyes widen. He looks back at you, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. “Very cool, Hydra girl. Very, very cool.” Tony holds up his phone for everyone to see the bright message splayed across the screen: _Good enough?_   
  
“Spooky,” says the blond man.   
  
“Not bad,” says Nat, with an approving smile.   
  
“Can you do the lights?” Tony asks eagerly. You shift nervously in your seat.   
  
“Yes. But I don’t want to. I don’t like to use my powers.”   
  
“That’s cool, too,” Tony says, looking bored again. “Well, back to business – we can send you to a facility in Vermont when the weekend’s over with all the paperwork. They don’t like weekend admissions. We learned that the hard way. You can stay here until then.”   
  
“Where is here?” You can’t help asking. Nat is the one to answer.   
  
“You’re at Avengers Tower in New York City. Welcome to America.

#  **V.** **  
**

Worry pinches Bucky’s brow as he opens yet another box of files confiscated from the Hydra compound. So far the other new information he’d found was irrelevant or outdated. It was a boring job, but with Natasha on a recon mission out of state with Sam, he was the only one that spoke Russian and could decipher the files.

It sickened him. How many people had been taken from their families, taken into the facilities. By force, or by promising a better life. And how many of them had _died_. So far that morning he had counted twenty-seven dead experiments. Hydra was cruel. And he knew it.

The twenty-eighth file he pulls out is marked “искры”. Bucky frowns, and flips it open.

It was _her_.

His heartbeat picks up - he’s not quite sure why, but his frown deepens as he flicks through the papers in the file. A record of experiments Hydra had done on her, testing her abilities. ‘Improving’ them. Strengthening them. Experimenting. It makes him sick.

And towards the back, there’s a collection of personal information they must have gathered on her before kidnapping her. An old report from school. A birth certificate. And a worn, old photo: a family. A smiling family, bundled together in one giant hug, all smiling broadly for the camera. The girl, several years younger, in the center.

Almost dismissively, Bucky glances at the rest of the people. But what he sees makes his blood run cold - _he knew them_. Oh, hell. He’d seen those faces before.

“Bucky?” There’s a light tapping on the door, and Bucky jolts back to reality, his heart pounding and his face hot. In panic he drops the file onto the desk as Steve’s face ducks around the edge of the door.

“What?” Bucky asks, a little more brusquely than normal.

“I’m going to the gym. Wanna come?”

“Sure, sure. Yeah. I’ll be down in the a minute.”

Steve frowns, as if gauging Bucky’s mood - but he doesn’t say anything more, and the door clicks shut. Bucky lets out a long breath, and then cautiously picks up the file once more.

He holds the family picture in his hand for a moment, his mind struggling to process a dozen memories suddenly surfacing. Then nausea folds his stomach in on itself.

He knew this family because, apart from the grinning girl in the middle of the picture, he had killed every single one.

Fear makes Bucky’s metal fingers crumple the picture. Oh, no - what if someone found out? That he’d murdered the new girl’s family for Hydra? If they did - if they did -

No. He couldn’t keep it a secret. She thought her family was still alive.

He had to tell her.

More panic. Bucky smooths out the picture at once, and thinking fast, places it on the desk and piles about six books on top of it. That ought to help. He hopes.

Gym. Steve. Workout.

Bucky takes several deep breaths, and departs the study.

#  **VI.**

You find peace on the roof of Avengers compound. It’s the height of luxury - a massive swimming pool, two hot tubs, a bar, and tables and chairs enough to fit probably a hundred people. But the real luxury for you is the fresh air and the quiet. You were able to escape the well-meaning but overly-friendly Avengers, and this is the first time you’ve watched a sunset in years. A decade, even. A very, _very_ long time. It’s better than what your imagination could have conjured, because it’s real. And tinged with slightly-frightening, but very relieving freedom.

“Um . . . hi.”

You turn your head to see...the Asset. He’s hovering nearby, looking...awkward. He’s never looked awkward before. Despite the frantic pounding in your chest at the sight of the broad figure, the fright has ebbed somewhat, somehow. Being free. Not being in Sibera anymore. Without Hydra agents everywhere. The Asset isn’t under their control. You swallow.

“Hi,” you say back.

“Can I - can I sit here?”

You stare at him, and after a moment of stunned silence you give a single nod. Despite being fairly certain you’re not in any danger, you stiffen away from him as he sits in a pool chair next to yours. He’s stiff, too, and he does not relax. Then without a word, he pulls a ratty paper from his pocket and hands it to you.

You take it with shaking fingers. It’s a photo. Immediately your eyes fill with burning tears, as your forefinger traces over the smiles of your mother, your father. Your brothers. Your grandmother.

“Where did you get this?” you ask him in a choked voice.

“It was in the file Hydra kept of you.”

You gaze at the photo a little longer. But a clenching dread has formed in your stomach. “They’re dead, aren’t they?” you whisper.

A pause. “Yes.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, and tears fall. But you aren’t really surprised - knowing Hydra as you do, how could you have let yourself believe all these years that they would let your family live? Perhaps you had known all along, in your heart. But you’d refused to believe it. Because without your family, there would be nothing to live for.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “Thank you, soldat,” you tell him. It was nice of him to bring it to you, anyway.

“Bucky,” he says abruptly. “Please. Please, call me Bucky.”

You shrug, and jerk your head in assent.

“There’s something else,” Bucky says. You lift your eyes to meet his. The dead, icy-blue gaze of the Asset is...not quite there. Bucky’s eyes are warm. Full of emotion. Not stunted.

“What?” you ask.

“It was...me. I killed them.” Flickers of remorse fill his expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You let out a breath, turning to look back at the sunset dipping behind the reaching buildings of New York City. “It wasn’t your choice,” you say blandly.

“Well, no. But I did it.”

You don’t reply.

“Do you...aren’t you angry?”

“No.” A wry, humorless smile twists your lips. “I’m too tired to be angry.”

Bucky stands abruptly, and you twitch. The nerves have returned. But when you glance at him, his posture isn’t the least bit threatening. He won’t look at you, but says gruffly. “I’m sorry.” And he turns on his heel to stride away.

#  **VII.**

The strange confession of the Asset - _Bucky_ \- keeps you awake that night. Without the exhaustion after being captured? Rescued? - by the Avengers, you toss and turn in your borrowed bed, unable to find rest. It’s too soft. Too quiet. Too dark. Too strange. Not that Hydra had provided the lap of luxury - but you had become used to the dirty rooms, the whimpering from others in the night.

The carefully constructed dam of your emotions is firmly in place. Years of conditioning by Hydra doesn’t disappear overnight. The grief and shock of losing your family is there - but deadened, pushed away.

Sometime after midnight you give up, and crawl out of bed in search of - something. Nighttime wanderings weren’t allowed in Hydra bases, and so its with some trepidation that you push open the door. It doesn’t creak, and when you peek out into the hallway, it’s empty. You’re probably allowed to wander around. Probably.

No one else is in sight. After meandering through the common rooms, the kitchen, the numerous other rooms - you find a small rec room, plopping down on the couch and, not bothering to find a remote, trigger it on using your powers.

American television is fast. Choppy, the words jumbled together as the people speak at breakneck speed. Absently you change the channel. There’s so much to see. Too much. Racing cars, smokey meat on a grill, lavish jewelry, a comedian, cartoons.

“Hey - ” A voice starts to say. You jolt out of the couch, sitting on the edge as adrenaline surges through you. _This isn’t Hydra, they aren’t here to kill me_ \- Taking deep breaths, you glance up and into the startled, uncertain eyes of the Asset. Bucky.

“Are...you okay?” he asks. He’s standing stiffly in the doorway to the rec room, alternating between staring at you and staring at the television in confusion. He’s wearing...pajamas. The Asset in pajamas. Your mind reels.

“Fine,” you say shortly. The Asset in pajamas. An utterly foreign giggle threatens to surface, but you force it back down, biting your lip.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Bucky blurts. “I...usually come down to watch some TV and try to go back to sleep. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He was always sorry, wasn’t he? The Asset not sleeping...perhaps he had nightmares. That’s a new concept to consider. After an awkward moment you begin to breathe again.

“You can sit,” you say.

The glint from the television off of his metal arms flares in your eyes as he shifts. Wordlessly and silently he enters the room, and sits stiffly at the furthest end of the couch from you. You turn back to the screen.

Commercials. Bored, you change the channel again, waiting for something that Bucky might like, or until he says something. Did he normally watch something specific? You aren’t brave enough to ask.

“Are...you doing that? Without a remote?” Bucky is staring at you, and you give him a short nod. “Wow,” he says. “That’s pretty neat. Weird, but neat.”

Your answering smile is stiff. “You have a strange standard of ‘weird,’ sol - Bucky.”

“We all do.” A twisted smile deforms his mouth, and you turn back to the television. Whatever strange feelings are threatening, you push them away. You’re good at pushing feelings away.

The pleasant buzz of the electric currents, non-hostile and warm, lulls your mind. Eventually you stop at a movie Bucky seems to enjoy; the English is too fast for you to keep up, and so you yawn and close your eyes.

But the currents darken; clouding your mind with sharp crackles and surges of pain. They make a cage - the face of the Enforcer comes closer, leering, threatening - _fix this or we kill your family, fix this or we kill your family, fix this or we -_

Hot tears drag you away, and the shaking of your body in your dream is real. You’re trembling head to foot, scarcely breathing. Your eyes shoot open - the lights in the room at Avengers Tower are flickering, stuttering. The television is no more than a blank screen, with wisps of grey smoke lazily ascending to the ceiling. What - ?

Then you realize a deep voice is talking. A warm hand is on your arm.

_“Hej, shh. Jest w porządku.”_

You jolt - hearing your mother tongue while your Russian nightmare still swims is like a gentle pain. But who? Oh, right - the Asset - no, _Bucky_ is still there. You meet his eyes, dark with concern and...fear? He’s come to your side, not too close, and it’s his flesh hand on your arm. A sharp intake of breath racks your body, and white spots appear in your vision. His face blurs. But then it’s closer, and his voice is speaking faster. Low. Quiet. His hand is stroking your arm...in comfort?

 _“Wszystko jest w porządku,”_ he murmurs. _“Nie zamierzają cię zabić. Jesteś bezpieczna. Jest w porządku.”_

You squeeze your eyes shut. Let him anchor you. Let him bring you back.

 _“Możesz płakać, droga._ _To był tylko sen._ _Jesteś bezpieczna.”_

You don’t realize how tightly you’ve been clenching onto a pillow until it’s gently extracted from your hands. Blinking in confusion, you see Bucky draw it away, a frown on his face. There are tears in the fabric, stuffing peeking out from where you had torn it.

“Better?” he asks quietly. His eyes are back on your face. But instead of fear, it’s mostly an ache you feel. You nod, unable to speak. A deep, shuddering exhale does wonders to slowing your heart rate, and after several quiet moments, you try to smile.

“Thank you,” you tell him. He didn’t have to stay with you. But he did.

“It’s...no problem,” Bucky says, and then hesitates. “I...know how it feels.”

He probably did.

“Anyway, I figured that if you stayed in your nightmare you might have blown the whole tower up.” There’s a twisted smile on his face. Is he teasing? He must be teasing. You laugh, shakily.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Scary, but okay.”

Scary. The Asset thought _you_ were scary. The idea is laughable. Like, actually laughable. You blink, unsure of the expression on his face, and then give a giggle - an genuine giggle this time. Bucky blinks back. Then the tension snaps like a rubberband, and he sinks in the couch _howling_ with laughter as you collapse beside him. Tears of mirth are unfamiliar to you, but so much more welcome than tears of fright or sadness.

It’s this scene that Tony comes rushing into, nearly losing his footing as he surges around the corner, out of breath.

“What happened?” he asks wildly. “I got a report from Jarvis - ”

“She broke the TV, Tony,” Bucky interrupts. His lips are quivering as he glances at you, and you break again. More laughter bubbles to the surface, and you see out of the corner of your eye Tony frowning in confusion. This only makes you laugh harder; Stark’s ruffled hair and jammies could not possibly be funny in any other moment, but they are now.

“Weirdos,” he mutters, and slumps back to bed.

#  **  
****VIII.**

_Several months later_.

Therapy is good. So, so good. Re-acclimatization is good. So, so good.

When Tony invites you back to Avengers Tower - as an employee, not a refugee - you take the chance happily. The nightmares have mostly gone, you’re at peace with your place in the world, and eager to see it all. A world without Hydra is one you can get behind.

The night you arrive, you’re informed by Jarvis that those who are not currently on assignment are in one of Tony’s labs - you make the decision to be polite (and show off your much-improved English), and make your way to the lab.

Bright, warm lights cast the entire room into a pleasant atmosphere, reflecting off of steel surfaces and white floors. It’s remarkably tidy, for all the labs you’ve seen (mostly Hydra), and three distinct people are huddled around a table. Or rather, one is sitting on the table and two are hovering. All look up as you enter, and Tony Stark grins widely.

“Glad you made it!” he says. “Just in time, too.”

Curious, you continue forward. Pepper Potts is beside Tony, clearly uncertain as she pinches her lip. And on the table - Bucky, his metal arm lying limp on his lap, emitting sparks. Of course.

“Did you mess with that?” you ask Tony, leaning forward to squint at the limb. You can feel Bucky’s gaze on your face, but you ignore it. The arm is more interesting.

“Well - yeah. I was doing some updates; smooth out some movements, oil the joints. I was going to add a few extra features, if Barnes will _let_ me.”

The last part reeks of an old argument. Without thinking you pick up the heavy metal arm, feeling it out with your mind.

“Well,” you say to Tony at last. “I’m guessing that biomedical tech isn’t your forte.”

“It’s a work in progress - ” His indignant voice makes you smile, and immediately you place the palm of your hand on the metal forearm, focusing. There’s a hiss of breath from Bucky, and a moment later you glance up at him with a smile. He blinks back, and then rolls his shoulder. No more sparks.

“Much better,” Bucky says. “Thank you.” He glares at Tony. “Not you.”

“The updates are fine,” you say quickly, keen on avoiding any arguing. “I remember some of the joint pieces would build up with rust and such; I’m glad they’ve been replaced with vibranium. And the circuits are _much_ more efficient now.”

“Thank you,” Tony says loudly. “If you keep complimenting me, you’re definitely allowed to stay.”

“Tony,” Pepper protests. “You already said - ”

“I know, I know,” he waves that away. “Have you been up to see your rooms yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, get going. I’m ready for some blabbering gratitude.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper says again, and she winds her arm through Tony’s as they make for the elevator. There’s a murmured conversation - or lecture, more like, before they disappear. It makes you smile, and you glance back at Bucky.

“Does it really feel better?” you ask.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says quickly. His fingers wiggle slightly, and you squint down at them.

“What did Stark want to add, just out of curiosity?”

“Oh…he left some space for like, a lighter, a flash drive...some electrical devices,” Bucky says. “It gives me the creeps, honestly. Who wants a lighter in their finger?”

“A pyromaniac,” you suggest.

He’s stunned, for a moment. Then his eyes widen, and he throws back his head to laugh. You like the sound. In fact, it’s so distracting that when Bucky hops down from the table, you forget to move out of the way, and you’re left standing there stupidly, and _way too close_.

There’s scarcely a centimeter between you; Bucky’s warm, and very broad chest is pressed up against you, and his laughter has quieted as he stares down at you, evidently baffled. Does he feel the same singing of heat through his veins like you do? Your breath catches in surprise, and you stare back up at him.

“We should go,” he blurts, his cheeks tinging with red.

“Er - yeah. Yeah.” With a hot face you turn to leave, wondering what just happened. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel _bad_. It was...good.

Bucky follows you behind, stepping into the elevator at your side. Quickly you risk a glance in his direction, and to your surprise you see a small smile lifting his lips. The doors ding shut.

Being back at Avengers Tower is going to be _very_ interesting.


End file.
